My grandfather told me that every time I face a fear, I create an amazing and immortal story. So I followed his advice. One summer I threw myself into the sea without knowing how to swim; at a party, when everyone was sitting seriously at the table, I got up and started dancing; in Paris I kissed a stranger without wanting to know his name; one day I got on a train without knowing where it was going. For ten years I have been carrying a story of unrequited love. I'll let this one die.
Nicolae Popescu
Mihai vaguely remembers his mother: a kiss on the forehead with the scent of lilies of the valley and the poplin skirt that smelled of laundry soap. He hid it there when his father came home drunk and wanted to beat him up. His mother died when he was three years old. His father beat him every day and sent him to the station to beg. Years later, Mihai put sleeping pills in his glass of mastic, set the adobe house on fire and went out with his younger brothers by the hand. The house was reduced to ashes, they grew up in an orphanage. Mihai became a fireman.
Siranuș Hakobian
In my defense I can only say that I was young and didn't know what I was doing. But I was dying to be an orphan. That's because my aunt, aunty Maria, had adopted Vlăduț and proudly showed him to everyone. How handsome he was, but how smart, and look how he looked like me, and Aunt Maria was kissing him all day. Even I was forced to donate half of my toys and some pants that I really liked. Then the accident happened and I was left an orphan. I've been struggling to kill a guilt story ever since. I was small and I didn't know what I was doing.
(Translated by Andreea Maria Liceanu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.